


Leave A Message

by AnotherGallavichLove



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Death Fic, Future Fic, M/M, inner thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6864649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherGallavichLove/pseuds/AnotherGallavichLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mickey.</p>
<p>From the second I heard those words; ‘We found a body’ - my heart stopped. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think. My entire body went completely and utterly numb, unable to function. My knees forgot they were knees. Now that I have at least managed to move, only one thing is present in my head. There is only one echo. One moment, frozen in time. One single, insignificant moment that you and I once shared. Years and years ago. One moment. Over and over and over again, it repeats in my head and I… I can’t tell you why."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave A Message

Ian swallowed, looking down at the phone that was resting on the edge of the couch, right next to his jean-clad thigh, feeling himself become slightly annoyed at the fact that the screen continued to stay black.

 

Some random romantic comedy movie was playing on the television screen, filling the livingroom of the apartment with some kind of cozy, flickering light though the sound was just about muted. The darkness had since long fallen outside of the large window, and if Ian were to look outside, he would surely be able to see nothing but his own reflection. The tilted ceiling above made him feel as if he was in some kind of a bubble. His feet rested on the coffee table ahead, his hand lazily curled around a bottle of root-beer. The hairs on his face were just a little bit longer than usual thanks to the fact that he hadn’t bothered shaving this morning.

 

A very soft and barely audible sigh escaped out through his nose while he moved his gaze back to the television, attempting to focus on how Sandra Bullock fell in love with Ryan Reynolds this time, but it was difficult to keep his attention on the fictional story when his stomach was stirring in this incredibly uncomfortable way. Only a minute later, his eyes were back on the phone by his sides.

 

Mickey should have been home by now - actually, he should have been home four hours ago. When the time had ticked past nine by ten minutes, Ian hadn’t been annoyed at all. He had just been jumping up and down because he missed his husband. Mickey having to go on these business trips was the absolute worst part of his job; they hadn’t seen each other in almost two weeks and all Ian wanted to do was to hold his man in his arms and kiss those beautiful lips.

 

No, at first Ian hadn’t been annoyed or anything even remotely similar - he had just ordered some food and figured that his husband would arrive home as soon as he could. Then the clock had ticked further and further away nine, closer to then and then suddenly it had been eleven.

 

Then midnight had hit and the stirring in the base of Ian’s guts only seemed to become worse with each second that passed; each television commercial and each time he finished a root-beer and he had the time to stand up and go get another one. He was well aware of the fact that it was probably nothing, of course. Mickey’s flight had probably just gotten delayed. Maybe the batteries in his phone were out and he couldn’t call home to tell Ian.

 

Still, it all made Ian uncomfortable. Made him feel uneasy in his own skin, because Mickey was supposed to be home now. He was supposed to be by his side and he was supposed to chew his food obnoxiously loud, and then they were supposed to go to bed and finally be together again.

 

Ian swallowed, finally giving into the urge that he had successfully kept himself from. He reached forwards, placing the brown glass bottle down onto the table ahead of him as he took his feet down from the table and tucked them underneath his own frame, picking the phone up and dialing the number that he had known by heart for the past ten years. Ian’s gaze was focused on the television stand as he heard one tone, and then two. Then they fell closed, his stomach turning.

 

_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_ Ian swallowed down the lump in his throat and let the device drop into his lap along with his hand, the call ending without a message being left.

 

  
***

 

  
Two hours later, and there was still nothing. Nothing at all. Ian had moved into the bedroom, knowing that he would be completely dead on his feet if he didn’t at least try to get some sleep. He was laying in the middle of the large bed that he and Mickey shared together, a couple of his limbs sprawled out onto his husband’s side, just like he always slept when Mickey was for some reason not there. It was always difficult to sleep when he couldn’t hug him to his chest, but for the most part he usually managed.

 

Probably because of their nightly routine of saying ‘ _Goodnight_ ’ and ‘ _I love you_ ’ over the phone. That hadn’t happened tonight, so instead Ian was awake and restless, turning and tossing, the red strands on top of his head becoming messed up by the pillow beneath his head.

 

The large, black t shirt felt a little bit too warm on his body, the covers on top of him feeling too heavy. He made sure to keep his eyes closed, hoping that that would somehow help him go to sleep faster. Maybe in the morning he would wake up to the smell of fresh coffee and a blow job - or a cuddle. A cuddle would be better. Ian missed his Mickey so damn much.

 

Eventually, Ian was forced to realize the fact that turning and flipping in bed would get him nowhere. His mind was completely clear and awake despite the fact that he had been so since six am. Ian’s eyes slipped open, and he eased himself up a little bit to sit, the hot covers being collected by his knees because they were making his skin crawl at the current moment.

 

The little lamp by his side of the bed admitted a slight, pink tinted shine over the dark room, and it was something that Mickey had always found annoying, but he allowed Ian to have it on anyway. Ian’s eyebrows knitted together a little bit as he turned his head to look at the digital clock Mickey’s nightstand. The bright green numbers blinked closer to five am, and Ian dug his teeth into the inside of his bottom lip, his stomach turning just a little bit more.

 

Before he had really had the time or the space inside of his brain to think it over all too much, he had his phone back in his hands, pressing re-dial as he put the device up to his ear, swallowing.

 

His eyes stung just a little bit as he looked out over the empty, dark bedroom, letting him know that while his brain may be spinning too much to sleep, his body was certainly starting to need a few hours of unconsciousness.

 

One tone rang into Ian’s ear, and then one more. He counted up to eight before Mickey’s voice rang into his ear.

 

_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_ A deep sigh escaped Ian’s lips at the familiar message that made his heart sink a little bit more.

 

“Hey, baby. I’m just… wondering where you are. Your plane probably just got delayed or something, but the bed is too fucking big and I can’t cuddle myself on the couch, so just… just come home, alright Mick? I love you” With that, Ian let his hand drop back into his lap, wrapped around the phone as he felt just a tiny, tiny bit better. He could imagine Mickey sitting perched against the wall in some airport, annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t find anywhere to charge his phone so that he could call home.

 

Yeah. Yeah, that had to be what was currently happening on the other side of the country. Ian swallowed, putting his phone to the side before laying back down and closing his eyes, doing his best to get his brain to calm down enough that he would be able to get a little bit of sleep. Hopefully in the morning, Mickey would be there and all of this worry would have been for nothing.

 

  
***

 

  
Of course, that’s not quite what happened.

 

Ian managed to catch one - possibly two - hours of sleep before his body slipped out of the state once again. he was laying on his back in the middle of the cold bed, the morning light outside of the large window. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that his husband wasn’t back home, he would have been able to sense it if he was.

 

If Mickey had been home, Ian’s body would have been all warm and he would have felt safe. His stomach would be all fluffy, and his heart would be hurting in the absolute best possible way, aching with love for this amazing man that had stolen his heart all of those years ago. Instead his body was cold, his ears filling with the slight patter as he listened to the rain on the roof.

 

Slowly but surely, Ian let his eyes blink open once again. One of the very first things he did was of course to roll closer to his own side of the bed and reach for his phone, hoping that there would be a missed phone call or a text message from his husband, explaining things. Instead, he was tragically met with the picture of him and Mickey on his lockscreen, not a single notification. His stomach seemed to sink even a little bit more as he put the device back down, rolling onto his back once again, his eyes blinking up into the ceiling.

 

Late at night, it was incredibly easy for Ian to become worried and carried away, wondering if something had happened. He felt that way a lot - a couple of times Mickey had gotten stuck in traffic going to pick up some food and he had been completely convinced that he had gotten into an accident or something. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ian had probably known that last night.

 

Which was why he had gone to bed, hoping that it would all add up into some kind of silly thing like that because of course Mickey would be here when he woke up.

 

But now… it was light outside now. It was raining and he was laying in a bright bedroom. Alone in a huge fucking bed that he was supposed to be sharing with Mickey. Nine. Mickey’s plane had been meant to land at seven thirty last night. He should have been home by nine. Where the fuck was he?

 

Ian eased himself up to sit once again, looking out over the room around him. He was well aware of the fact that odds were something tiny had happened. Like Mickey had broken his phone and his plane had been delayed or something - but Ian would be a very good husband if he hadn’t been seriously worried by now. Of course he was worried. All the way down into his very spine. He reached for his phone once again, pressing re-dial, just hoping that Mickey’s voice would be on the other end. His real authentic voice, not some recorded message that was a year or two old. But ultimately;

 

_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_ Ian sighed in disappointment and worry, pressing the button once again; _“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_ then again; _“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_ Finally, Ian was forced to admit defeat and he swallowed, pushing himself out of bed on weak legs, all the while keeping his phone tightly clutched into his right hand, hoping that it would start to vibrate soon.

 

  
***

 

  
By the time Mandy walked through the front door of the apartment - without knocking, of course because she was Mandy - Ian was sitting at the edge of the kitchen island with a hot cup of tea in his hands, for really no other reason other than the fact that the rain was still pouring outside and it was nice to feel the heat seep into his palms as he looked down at the black screen of his phone, unable to take his eyes off of it. A slight piece of him felt he was worrying too much, surely something small had happened.

 

Surely Mickey’s plane had failed to take off or something. And surely his phone had lost its battery. But then there was also that one inch of Ian that just knew that if that was the case, Mickey was the kind of wonderful man who would have found a fucking phone just to make sure that Ian wouldn’t be walking around worried. Especially since Ian tended to do just that more than he had to. His mind was just spinning, trying to come up with plausible reasons as to why Mickey wasn’t in his right now, watching Van Damme and enjoying this rainy day.

 

“Hey, is Mickey still asleep?” Mandy let the front door slam closed behind herself as she crossed the medium dark hardwood floors, walking towards Ian, the messy blonde strands of her hair resting kind of all over the place. Ian swallowed, looking at her as his shoulders pulled up into somewhat of a shrug, his mouth and throat feeling incredibly dry. He could imagine what he looked like - tired eyes and pale face. Then he uttered the words that stung to even get out.

 

“No, I… He never came home last night. I don’t know where he is” Mandy had had a neutral look on her face, a slight hint of a casual smile. But it all fell as her eyebrows knitted together, her feet slowly taking her closer to her brother-in-law.

 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Were the only six words that she seemed to be able to utter in that moment; obviously hoping that she wasn’t understanding it right or that it was some kind of a sick joke. Mickey had been supposed to be home at nine last night, she knew that. Nine pm. So why the fuck wasn’t he home at nine am? Ian just looked at her, eyes red with exhaustion as he silently confirmed that she had understood everything right.

 

Mickey was missing - well, maybe there was some kind of law that said that somebody had to be out of touch for a certain amount of time before they could be labeled as such; she remembered hearing about that fucked up rule before - but as far as she and Ian were concerned, Mickey was missing. He was anything but the kind of guy to do this. Had his plane been stopped from taking off on time or something, then he surely would have found some kind of way to let them know.

 

“Have you tried calling him?” Mandy asked then, slowly sitting down in the chair next to the man. Ian just stared at her, not looking much more energized than he had back in his teenage years when he had been at his absolute lowest with his disorder. He looked quite ruined, and Mandy understood why. The two were attached somehow. One possibly hurt, both lost. “Of course you have, I’m sorry”

 

Ian’s head moved slowly up and down, his eyes stinging with the lack of sleep as he looked down into his tea; the heat was starting decrease a little bit and he hadn’t taken a single swallow yet. Though that had never been his intention, it just felt comforting somehow. To hold it and to feel the heat seep into his palms as the rain poured and poured outside of the large windows, slamming against the glass. It didn’t help much when he wasn’t sure where his husband was - or even if he was even safe at this point - but he would take any small grains of comfort he could possibly get.

 

“Have you called the airline and checked that the plane took off?” At that Ian looked up at her, staying still for a second or so before his head slowly moved from side to side. He hadn’t even thought of that option before just now. But to be quite honest, he was scared. Yes - maybe the plane hadn’t taken off and maybe Mickey was trapped at some airport, just waiting for another one. But there were other possibilities, too. Possibilities that would end up making Ian’s blood run cold, make his heart burst out of his chest. What if the plane had taken off? What if Mickey just wasn’t home because… because he was trapped somewhere a lot worse than a fucking airport?

 

Ian swallowed, quite quickly shaking off that thought. The last thing he needed in this moment was to get carried away. He knew that he sometimes would let his imagination run wild and in a situation like this one, that didn’t make anything better. Surely Mickey was alright. One way or another. He just had to be.

 

“I’m gonna call them. I’m sure it’s just delayed” Mandy spoke, and with the way her voice shook just the tiniest bit, Ian wasn’t sure whether she was trying to convince him or herself. She picked her phone up before standing and walking quite a few steps away from Ian, leaving him to stay sitting at the kitchen island, staring down into his cold tea. Maybe he was overreacting - it had always been difficult for him to tell in situations like this.

 

Granted, Mickey had never been gone for this long before. And the truth was that whenever he had been gone for an extra hour or two, and Ian had become worried, in the back of his mind he had always known that Mickey was completely fine. He had always felt it somehow. But now… he had never felt this lost before.

 

Mandy’s soft steps came closer once again, and Ian swallowed, looking up at her. It wasn’t all that necessary for her to break the news. Ian’s blood ran cold just by the look on her face. The way her lips were parted, eyes scared.

 

“It took off. Mickey was on it”

 

  
***

 

  
The next two days were a complete haze of sleepless nights, breakdowns and rain. So much rain. It never seemed to stop. The water just poured and poured and poured down outside of Ian’s window. Of course it felt appropriate.

 

The love of his life was missing, gone. Not missing in the lighter sense that Ian wasn’t all that sure where he was, he was actually missing - there were papers and police reports and detectives looking for him. It all felt just… way too surreal for Ian to really grasp. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

 

Mickey was supposed to be home in his arms, and they were supposed to enjoy this rainstorm by watching bad slasher movies and fucking each other into the mattress until they weren’t able to walk. Mickey was supposed to be here. Mickey was supposed to be home. Ian and Mickey were supposed to be together.

 

On the third day, Ian and Mandy were both sitting on the couch, backs rested against the arm-rests, their feet slipped in between each other’s as they had their hands curled around cups of tea, the heat seeping into their palms almost to the point where it burned the skin. Their eyes were fixed onto the television screen, but neither of them were paying much attention to whatever teen drama happened to be playing at that moment. They had enough drama in their lives. Ian was wrapped up in his own head, and Mandy was wrapped up in hers.

 

In the beginning, Mickey had been missing. Ian’s husband was missing, so what? He would be found. He had to be found at some point. But the past twenty four hours… what if something even worse had happened to his love?

 

Out of all of the horrible hours that had ticked by since Mickey had gone missing, Ian had probably spent one - two at most - of them asleep. His eyes were stinging, heart throwing itself against his ribcage, head pounding. All he could think was that this couldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t be happening. Mickey was supposed to be here. In his arms.

 

Ian swallowed, doing his absolute best to sink into the television show. Maybe it would help. Even if it was just for a minute or so. It didn’t take longer than that before he and Mandy were both startled by his phone ringing.

 

  
***

 

  
_Mickey._

 

_From the second I heard those words; ‘We found a body’ - my heart stopped. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think. My entire body went completely and utterly numb, unable to function. My knees forgot they were knees. Now that I have at least managed to move, only one thing is present in my head. There is only one echo. One moment, frozen in time. One single, insignificant moment that you and I once shared. Years and years ago. One moment. Over and over and over again, it repeats in my head and I… I can’t tell you why._

 

_It was your twenty third birthday - do you remember this? I asked you several times what you wanted to do, but you said that you didn’t want anything. I insisted that we should at least have your favorite ice cream or something. You deserved that fucking much. When I came home, you knitted your eyebrows and you asked me why I had bought vanilla cookie dough ice cream, why I thought that was your favorite. Your favorite was chocolate fudge. I was so confused, because every single time when we had gone to get ice cream together in the past, vanilla cookie dough was what you always picked out. I told you this, and you looked at me with those kind, beautiful blue eyes; you said that you always chose that one because you knew that it was my favorite flavor._

 

_I suppose that it is possible that that memory somehow sticks with me, because through everything - that was the moment when I first, truly realized how unselfish you are. You have never made any decisions for yourself, Mickey. You always make them for me, for us. In that moment, I remember that it occurred to me that we still had so much life left to live together. So many more things to learn about each other. So many more insignificant, significant nights to live through. Since then, baby, I have continued learning about the strong, humble and absolutely amazing human being that you are._

 

_I can’t hear that you will never come home again. That I will never learn something new about you again. That I will never again experience your selflessness, or the undeserved, unconditional love that you for some reason carry around for me. I can’t hear that you are gone. I can’t hear that you will never walk through that door again, complaining about work. I can’t hear that I will never feel your comforting, warm skin against my own again. I can’t hear that this is goodbye._

 

_Mickey, please. Have we really had our last conversation? Our last kiss? I don’t know what I will do if it’s you under that sheet. I don’t know how I could possibly go on._

 

  
***

 

  
Ian’s right hand covered his own mouth, fingers digging into his cheek as his knees went completely numb, tears immediately streaming down his cheeks. Mandy’s sobs joined his own while they held each other. The entire car-ride there, as the trees had flashed past the passenger window, Ian had gotten lost in his head. Thinking about Mickey. Thinking about this. What if. What if Mickey was gone, how could he possibly move on? What if it was Mickey on that table? What if Ian would never hear his perfect voice again? What if he would never feel his warm touch again?

 

But it wasn’t a ‘ _what if_ ’ anymore. Because there it was. Black, red and blue on pasty, white skin. His skin.

 

  
***

 

  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_

 

Ian must have listened to that fucking message over a hundred times. Hanging on to every single syllable, every single letter, every single tone of Mickey’s voice. His lips were parted, his eyes and face completely and utterly destroyed from all of the tears.

 

The darkness outside of his window had once again settled in, and he was sitting on the hardwood flooring, back pressed against the kitchen island, a bottle of whiskey standing beside him. He hadn't yet entered the self-loathing stage of actually placing his mouth against the bottle’s, he just had it standing there. Maybe it was some kind of a tribute to his deceased husband, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t currently think all that straight.

 

“Please don’t leave me. Baby, don’t leave me” Ian sobbed. “It’s all - it’s all gonna be okay, right? That’s what people always fucking say. But - but I’m - I’m not gonna be alright. Babe - Baby. I’m… You can’t just fucking leave me like this, baby. You’re - I can’t live like this. I love you too much”

 

Ian’s arms were folded, clutching his stomach as the sobs only seemed to grow louder and louder. Mandy wasn’t anywhere to be seen, he needed this moment alone. He needed to be free to break down and be as fucking loud as he wanted to, because he was quite certain that if a serial killer were to slit his chest open and rip his heart out in front of his fading eyes, that wouldn’t hurt half as bad as this did. This moment. This reality that seemed to be nothing but a complete and utter nightmare.

 

“Mick”

 

Mickey. Ian’s Mickey. Mickey with the thick lips and the blue eyes. Micky with the black hair that he cared way too much about and Mickey with the soft touches and the sweet whispered words that had always been saved for nobody but Ian. Mickey with the soft kisses and the best cuddles. Mickey with the most beautiful heart that had ever existed.

 

Murdered.  
Gone.  
Lost.  
Silent.  
Never to be seen again.

 

_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_  
_“Hey, it’s Mickey. Leave a message or whatever”_

 

Ian’s teeth were clenched, eyes not much different as more and more tears streamed down his cheeks. He was curled up into a tiny little ball on that kitchen floor, listening to Mickey’s voice saying the same eight words over and over and over again, his fingers digging into his own flesh as he sobbed.

 

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t”

 

  
***

 

  
The rain didn’t stop. It didn’t stop on the day that Ian’s world did, and it didn’t stop the day afterwards. Or the day after that. It continued pouring and pouring and pouring. Ian had always loved rain; he had always found it somewhat peaceful. Maybe that was why it rained. Because someone, somewhere knew that he needed that right now. That he needed the lightness in his lungs and the water on his skin.

 

The black suit sat on his body just as the black dress sat on Mandy’s. Ian’s tears had since long dried out, only because he couldn’t cry anymore. In fact, his soul was just about crushed to the point where he wasn’t sad. He wasn’t anything. Like… some kind of a zombie. Crushed to the point where you’re not sad? Was that a thing? Maybe he was just sad. Plain and simple.

 

“Every… every single time that I let it cross my mind that I’m never gonna see him again…” Mandy’s thick voice reached Ian’s hazey mind as they stood in front of the black casket, their feet resting on the wet grass. Ian swallowed, his blinks heavy. He hadn’t slept since that day. Not a single second. He just couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. He hadn’t even entered their - his - bedroom. Ian couldn’t see that bed, he couldn’t have all of those moments rush back in. He wouldn’t survive that, he knew he wouldn’t. “I feel like I’m gonna die”

 

Ian swallowed, his hand squeezing Mandy’s as they watched the casket being lowered into the ground, that one, beautiful red rose resting on top of it. Mickey was gone. Without Mickey, there was no Ian.


End file.
